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BADLANDS AND 
BRONCHO TRAILS 

BY 

LEWIS F. CRAWFORD 



Capital Book Co. 
Bismarck, N. D. 



Ffe 3 7 



c? 



COPYRIGHT, 1922 
BY THE AUTHOR. 



Press work and binding by 

The Bismarck Tribune Co. 

Bismarck, N. D. 



JAn : 

IC1AG90«37 

^ I 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Preface 5 

I. Idyl to Sentinel Butte 7- 11 

II. A Range Tragedy 12 - 20 

III. The Old Regular 21 - 25 

IV. Vesuvius 26- 49 

V. Nugget 50- 58 

VI. Horse Thief Springs 59- 70 

VII. The Banker's Plot 71 - 96 

VIII. By-Products of the Day's 

Work 97-111 

IX. A Tenderfoot, A Cowboy and , 

A Truth 112-114 



PREFACE 

These sketches are not intended to 
make up a history of the badlands, nor a 
story of the occupations of the people who 
make a living therein. They are merely re- 
lief points in the monotony of every-day 
events and it is hoped they will stir in the 
reader's vein the pulse of interest in the 
Badlands and in the human side of the 
rancher's life. It is a commonplace to say 
that fact is stronger than fiction, truth more 
romantic than romance. The life scenes in 
the Badlands are really pictures in action — 
sometimes pathetic but aways virile and 
stirring. Almost all of the frontier life and 
frontier types have passed, and will never be 
seen again in their picturesque setting. The 
stories of our Homeric age are worth record- 
ing, and I deem no apology is necessary if 
I venture to add a few pictures, however 
crude, to the romantic gallery of North Da- 
kota's permanent frontier. 

Lewis F. Crawford, 
Formerly of Sentinel Butte, 
Now of Bismarck, N. D. 
Nov. 15, 1922. 



[5] 




SENTINEL BUTTE 

ENTINEL BUTTE is situated just 
outside of the western edge of the 
badlands on the main line of the 
Northern Pacific at an elevation 
of 3430 feet. It overlooks the 
ground fought over by General 
Alfred Sully and the Sioux on 
August 8, 1864. Twelve years later Gener- 
al Geo. A. Custer passed the base of the 
Butte on his way to his final resting place 
on the Little Big Horn. The Northern Pacific 
reached this point in its construction in 
1880, where work ceased for the winter. 

Until recently Sentinel Butte was con- 
sidered the highest point in the State but 
Black Butte, about forty miles to the south- 
east is found to be of somewhat greater ele- 
vation. The cut shows the view from the 
north side about a mile and a half distant. 

The summit of Sentinel Butte is 650 
feet above the village of the same name 
which nestles in a valley about two and a 
half miles to the north. The butte is three 
miles long from east to west and about a 

[7] 



half mile wide on the average and flat on 
top. To the westward the land is level or 
gently roUing. 

The oligocene geologic period has a 
small outcropping on the west end of the 
Butte — revealing fossil fish; and a twenty- 
seven foot vein of lignite runs underneath 
the whole Butte, although much of the coal 
in near-by land is burned out. 

The east end of the Butte is a fine point 
from which to view the badlands. From 
there one sees the riot of clay and tousled 
scoria representing all the pigments of belli- 
cose passion. The opulent glare of the fore- 
ground fades imperceptibly into the gray 
incertitude and shadowy dimness of the dis- 
tance. The best time to view the badlands 
is in the soft hours of late afternoon in June 
or July when they surrender all the wealth 
and wonder of their beauty — sometimes 
sweetly frightful, sometimes terrible, some- 
times pathetic — always irresistible. Invol- 
untarily one uncovers before this unscarred 
sanctuary, this soul-accreting solitude — ^the 
BADLANDS, the static achievement of the 
Infinite. 



[8] 



IDYL TO SENTINEL BUTTE 




\ 



HAT A bewitching charm there is 
about Sentinel Butte — her solem- -^ 
nity, her grandeur, her majesty, 
and her agricultural inutility! 
What a history the geologist reads 
from the delicate tracery of her fossil fish, 
the prodigal veins of her lignite, the scarred 
escarpments of her declivities, and the rocky 
battlements of her towering summit! 

In unremembered aeons of the past 
slimy saurians dragged their cumbrous 
lengths over her surface and fishes gambol- 
ed in the salty deep which covered her, and 
have left only fossil remains to tell their re- 
luctant story. In the next day of geologic 
time the sea was swept away and in its 
wake grew up dense forests, and mastodon-« 
tic mammals to feed on their succulent hern 
bage, and in quick succession the alchemist 
[9] 



in Nature's laboratory added the massive 
beds of lignite as a continuing chapter in 
her wondrous past. Majestic and reverent 
is the mind and speechless the tongue when 
contemplating the dynamic changes, the up- 
heaval, the subsidence, the deposit, the ero- 
sion — yet there she stands, true to her name 
— a sentinel, a guide, an inspiration. 

How many times have her protecting 
gorges given security to the buffalo, the 
deer, and the antelope! How many times 
without human audience, have her solitudes 
resounded to the wolf's lonesome ululations 
or the piercing sovereignty of the eagle's 
cry! How many times has she served as 
chart and compass to Indian hunter, half- 
breed trapper, or Jesuit priest! What daunt- 
less courage did she give to Sully, when her 
more than ''forty centuries" looked down 
upon the Battle of the Badlands. What sub- 
lime faith or unavailing hope did she bestow 
upon Custer and his handful of brave men 
as they bade a last adieu to her retreating 
form from the Yellowstone divide. 

[10] 



If her lips could speak of the past, what 
chaos, what loneliness, what struggle and 
solace, what achievement and defeat, what 
glory and what gloom! If to her were the 
gift of prophecy, what peace and plenty, 
what serenity and contentment, what nobili- 
ty and grandeur, what inspiration and hope, 
what faith and what holiness could not her 
unsealed lips foretell? 

She has hitherto stood the most con- 
spicuous tenant in a solitude of vacancy su- 
perlative, though now within daily vision of 
five thousand prosperous people in the far- 
sung Golden Valley, who raise their hopeful 
matins and thankful vespers to her benign- 
ant and towering form out of whose womb 
issues fruitfulness surpassing the wont of 
Nature. Though now surrounded by thrift 
and activity, may she herself ever stand un- 
profaned by the hand of commerce — the ver- 
itable "Great Stone Face" to these who look 
upon her confidently expecting and patiently 
awaiting the fulfillment of prophecy. 



[11] 



! 


I 



A RANGE TRAGEDY 

he wide open range plays no favor- 
ites. Here the law of the survi- 
val of the fittest finds unpitying 
expression. Here the race is to 
the swift and the battle to the 
strong. The claw, the horn, the hoof, the 
fang are ever ready to act on the aggressive 
or the defensive as occasion demands. In the 
ceaseless struggle for existence the unfit 
must give way or become fit. Only thus is 
Nature's balance maintained. Even domestic 
animals develop "rustling" qualities when 
left in large measure to shift for themselves 
in the wide, unfenced, semi-arid ranges. Na- 
ture is quick to take advantage and improve 
upon not only the physical form of animals 
but on their instinct and intelligence as well, 
in order to prepare each the better to meet 
the demands of its environments. 
[12] 



Under the constant need of self-protec- 
tion range horses and cattle, even as wild 
animals, are alert in scenting danger and re- 
sourceful in meeting it. Thus reared they 
develop a hardihood unknown to their own 
kith and kin brought up on farms where 
their every whim is gratified by the hus- 
bandman and where there are no predatory 
animals to wage unrelenting warfare against 

tnem. #:|(:l.:t!*** **** 

The heart-wearying sn ow b lanket that 
had covered the ground for many lingering' 
months had disappeared. Even the spring 
squalls that occasionally swept over the 
plains in blinding fury had reached their 
seasonal limitations, and the air was becom- 
ing warm and balmy The buds of the stunt- 
ed sage were bursting ; the pasque flower had 
come and gone, primroses dotted the gumbo 
spots with charming beauty, the lilting lark 
bunting was sending forth his liquid notes 
from winged flights, and the shining new 
[13] 



coats of the cattle gave a holiday appearance 
to thgir.4)luBi£ing bodies. 

The fear of storms being over the cat- 
tle had begun to range farther and farther 
back from the rough breaks and water holes 
onto the fresh luscious grass of the open 
plains, broken only occasionally by a brush- 
fringed draw or coulee. 

Cattle are gregarious, yet a cow, seven 
or eight years old, went apart from the 
range herd of white faces which was slowly 
grazing along the banks of the Prairie Dog 
— a dry run in summer but now containing 
a running tricklet of water and at intervals 
a considerable pool. Approaching maternity 
sent this cow to seek sanctuary in solitude. 
She wished to avoid the eyes of the merely 
curious in the herd she had left, now some 
distance away, and secreting herself in a 
clump of plum and chokecherry bushes she 
awaited her months of expectancy to cul- 
minate in a little wobbly baby as dear to her 
as life itself. 

[14] 



In time her welcomed agony was re- 
warded. She licked her helpless, pinknosed, 
floundering, white-headed baby into shape. 
With much encouraging and almost inaudi- 
Dle crooning on her part, and after many in- 
effectual efforts on his part, he arose on un- 
steady legs for a few moments — instinctive- 
ly nosing the while his full dinner pail. Many 
times he collapsed only to struggle to his 
feet stronger, and each time he arose stood 
for a longer period as his augmenting 
strength enabled him to do. He was hungry 
and his every thought was the life-giving 
milk, which instinct taught him was provid- 
ed somewhere within reach After getting 
his first breakfast he lay down in full con- 
tent to rest after his rewarded exertions. 

This poor mother, like others of her 
kind, was the product of instinct and exper- 
ience, both of which taught her that death 
lurked among the foothills and the gulches 
more frequently than upon the open plains, 
where an enemy might less readily approach 
[15] 



unobserved. In every flit of a bird, the hum 
of an insect or the rustle of the wind, her 
terror paid the price of her tenderness. But 
her own bodily wants soon became insistent. 
She had a feverish thirst. She had been in 
this secluded draw a whole day and night 
without drink and the nearest water was 
two miles away. As the day wore on her 
fever and thirst increased — water she must 
have. 

After repeated cautions to her baby to 
lie still and make no noise while she was 
gone, she cropped a few mouthfuls of grass 
edging away leisurely the while towards the 
nearest water hole. After every few steps 
she looked around with dilated eyes suffused 
in a crowning mother's love upon the object 
of her devotion as he lay obediently flat up- 
on the ground and repeatedly crooned, as 
she edged away, a low good-bye and many 
heartening reassurances that she would not 
be gone long. He lay there sweetly in his in- 
fantile ignorance and in the blessed calm of 
[16] 



inexperience, his thick velvety coat shining 
in the warm sun and his eyes beaming with 
contentment, his weakness and innocence 
adding their twin appeal to the instinctive 
mother love for protection. 

Only the pangs of thirst could drive this 
mother from her offspring. She admonish- 
ed him by look and word and gesture to lie 
still and make no noise while she was gone 
and she knew he would instinctively obey. 
After she had gone leisurely, and apparently 
unpremeditatively, a hundred yards from 
the side of her baby, she took a last affec- 
tionate look to the rear before heading with 
rapid gait straight for water. She lost no 
time, drank until her thirst was quenched, 
when with quickened pace she retraced her 
steps. 

In her absence the despoilers set the 
seal of disaster upon her hopes. A pack of 
lurking coyotes, unknown to her, was impa- 
tiently awaiting her expected trip to the wa- 
ter hole, and in her absence had falkrn upon 
[17] 



her bossy with sharp fangs and ravenous ap- 
pertites and not only torn him limb from limb 
but had devoured his last quivering shred. 
The stricken mother, dazed in agonized grief, 
sniffed the bloodstained grass and knew that 
he had been killed and devoured, yet with 
that mother's love that knows no bounds 
she returned time and time again to the 
sacred spot, where the agony of her travail 
was so soon forgotten in the brief trans- 
port of her maternity — and poured out her 
heart in lonely lamentations. 

It may be that the philosopher is right 
when he gives to humanity a soul and to the 
"lower" animals only an instinct. It may be 
that the barrier between the powers of ex- 
pression in man and thoughts that are im- 
prisoned and dumb in the lower animals 
places the former in a higher category; but 
to us common folks, the mother-love is al- 
ways the same wherever found. 

For possibly thirty-six hours the dis- 
consolate mother mourned and would not 
[18] 



depart the grief-hallowed shrine. At times 
it seemed as if she were harassed by an up- 
braiding conscience reproving her for leav- 
ing her offspring until he were strong enough 
to accompany her to water. She seemed to 
think that in some way, somehow she might 
have been spared this sacrifice. But no mat- 
ter, she did not eat, she did not go for wa- 
ter — all she wanted was a chance to lavish 
her abounding mother-love upon her prom- 
ising son who had been so suddenly and so 
shockingly torn from her. 

At first she walked around with head 
erect and ears alert to catch a sound that 
might bring relief to her burdened heart. 
Again she would sniff the grass or bawl in 
pleading tones, then listen for a response 
which never came. As time wore on she 
stopped walking and at infrequent intervals 
sent forth a prolonged succession of 
bawls, hoarsely strident, ending in a low 
moan, as she stood a defeated and agonized 
object of pathos. 

[19] 



But mothers must be brave and not 
give way to grief. She had just met one of 
life's big, bitter tragedies and with back 
bowed, hair standing on end, unkempt, with 
eyes sunken and body gaunt, she gradually 
drifted with feverish and bursting udders 
to the herd, which she entered unobserved, 
bearing her burden of sorrow alone, buoyed, 
as I think, by the sweet memory of the loved 
and lost. 

The coyotes again pour forth their bit- 
ter hunger-howls; and her kind, as before, 
depart the herd in solitude to find their 
young. 



[20] 




THE OLD REGULAR 

he great West is a monument to 
the services and achievements of 
the Old Regular. He was home- 
less, yet everywhere at home. Un- 
like the volunteer, he was not a 
citizen of the state, but a citizen of the Re- 
public. Usually under political disfavor, 
and, for the most part held by the public 
just short of contempt, yet he did his work 
with no approving voice to cheer him on, 
with no Red Cross nurse to alleviate suffer- 
ing and ease the pangs of death. 

The Regular traversed wind-swept 
plains, alkali deserts, snowcapped mountains, 
treacherous rivers ; surveyed unknown wilds ; 
built army posts; escorted gold-seeking car- 
avans ; executed punitive expeditions against 
crafty savages, and in all, as a matter of 
course, faced death gloriously for the honor 
of his flag. 



[21] 



He laid out and protected the numer- 
ous overland trails that penetrated the West. 
What entrancing story is woven into the 
Santa Fe, the Salt Lake, the Bozeman, the 
Oregon, the Fort Keogh trails! What grip- 
ping tragedy was enacted on the banks of 
the Washita, the Republican, the Powder, 
the Big Horn, the Yellowstone What su- 
perb Indian fighters — Canby, Crook, Custer, 
Fetterman, Lawton, Miles, Forsyth, Howard, 
Pershing What resourceful adversaries — 
Red Cloud, Crazy Horse, Roman Nos'a, Black 
Kettle, Gall, Dull Knife, Chief Joseph, Ger- 
onimo ! 

In the stormy scenes of a tumultuous 
life he displayed matchless fortitude. He 
was the incarnation of law and order, duty 
and service; his was to obey, not to argue. 
No swashbuckler, no chronicler of his own 
deeds, no vain-glorious braggart, he. His 
great victories have been almost unnoticed 
and practically unrewarded. No herald or 
press agent embellished the story of his trag- 
[22] 



ic fate. His life was ruled by iron require- 
ments and unfalteringly he paid the penal- 
ties. His prowess has been all too seldom 
storied on wood and canvas, in bronze and 
marble. No marvelous pile even elusively 
suggests his virtues, yet each Regular, as a 
part of the old army, in perfect self-efface- 
ment gave his best — all he had to give. The 
spirit of the gift proves his kinship with 
the Divine. He is the outstanding figure in 
a tale of thrilling interest, the brilliant chap- 
ter of a history too little known, the embodi- 
ment of the toil and moil of frontier life, the 
settler's advance guard — the harbinger of 
civilization. Undisturbed by wavering un- 
sureness or spectral haunting fear, the Old 
Regular stands in unflawed strength, stead- 
fast in unshaken hope and errorless purpose. 
Though in his zenith in the heroic age of the 
West, he is the unlaurelled hero, unwritten 
and unsung — a vicarious sacrifice on the al- 
tar of civilization. 

The Regular "rests where he wearied 
and lies where he fell". At the old Fort 
[23] 



Keogh Crossing on the Little Missouri lies 
one of the Old Regulars — buried in 1877. Be- 
neath the silken whispers of the pine, over- 
looking the tortuous windings of the Little 
Missouri, 

"Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's 

emotions, 

Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow — all 

save fear". 

What more fitting sepulcher! Here in the 
wildness and seclusion of the badlands, 
whera conical buttes, heaven yearning, stand 
like sentinels at the outpost of death — far 
removed from the tolling bell, the gilded 
casket, the rich trappings, the funeral 
wreath — it is fitting he should sleep in the 
land his valor won. This lonely mound, gar- 
landed only by the wind-sown herbage of 
God will be a shrine of devotion for peoples 
yet to be. The narrow house containing 
these unconscious shreds of human clay, is 
but one of multiplied thousands, similarly oc- 
cupied, that singly or in pathetic clusters dot 
the great West. Their lives were spent away 
[24] 



from the respectable lust, the feverish un- 
rest, the voluptuous splendors of civilization, 
and it is fitting that the scenes of their 
triumphs be their palaces of peace. Theirs 
the daring, ours the dowry; theirs the, pri- 
vation, ours the plenty; theirs the victory, 
ours the veneration. 

The conquest of the West will be a 
worthy them^a for the artist and poet as long 
as the heart has reverence and heroism its 
votaries. Those old days are gone, together 
with the harming hazards they begot; but 
every community in the West is enveloped 
in the sacred memories of the Old Regulars, 
and their daeds are enshrined in the hearts 
of a grateful citizenry. 

Today we gather lush harvests above 
their undreaming dust — ^which we fain 
would moisten with an indebted tear. Time 
may dim but it will nevecr efface the memor- 
ies born of their heroism. Peace to their 
ashes ! 



[25] 




VESUVIUS 

he Circle N Outfit was astir mak- 
ing ready for the arrival of an ex- 
pected guest from Boston — by 
name B. Buttleford Frothingham. 
The information had leaked out 
that B. Buttleford had never been out West, 
that he had recently been graduated from 
Harvard, and that he might make thei ranch 
his home for some years, and that his ante- 
cedents were people of financial distinction 
and lived in the aristocratic Back Bay dis- 
trict of that famous old town. Guests the 
Circle N Outfit nearly always had, and they 
came and went without making so much as 
a ripple on the variegated routine of ranch 
life — but never before had they entertained 
one from classic Boston. The men, all west- 
erners, felt ill at eas«£i for fear they could 
not make feel at home one who had spent all 
[26] 



his days within the shadows of colleges, art 
museums and libraries. They speculated in 
their own minds as to whether he were large 
or small, morose or pleasant, irritable or 
tranquil and whether he would fit into ranch 
lifi£, or be forever in the way. They had 
found by experience that the more schooling 
some received the less able they were to ac- 
commodate themselves to their surround- 
ings. Would he ba a man and try to learn to 
do a man's part or would he want to remain 
a guest and be waited on just because he was 
a nephew of the Boss? Time alone would 
answer th&se questions. 

In order that the reader may the better 
understand what follows a brief picture of 
the ranch personnel and surroundings is nec- 
ctssary. The ranch owner, or Boss, as the 
boys always affectionately called him when 
speaking in the third person, was by name 
Sid Monroe, and was moreover an "ancle to 
the expected guest from Boston. Monroe, 
too, like B. Buttleford Frothingham wa« 

[27] 



born in Boston, had finisbed college and had 
come to the badlands country of Dakota 
along the Little Missouri when a mere youth 
over a quarter of a century earlier. He was 
intimate with Theodore Roosevelt when the 
latter occupied the Chimney Butte Ranch for 
a brief spell but a few miles farther up the 
Little Missouri. 

Then there was Tex Miller — a long 
lanky, thorough-going cowman from the 
Pan-handle who acted as foreman, but more 
often known as the straw boss. He spoke 
slowly and with a southern drawl. He came 
to the Northwest years ago with a trail he<rd 
for the XIT and after staying a few months 
liked the country and decided to remain per- 
manently. 

The other ranch hands w£(re Shorty 
Reeves, Si Sailor, Handsome Hughes, and Jo* 
Jo the cook. 

Only during the summer months was 
there a woman on the ranch — and she the 
wifa of Sid Monroe the ranch owner. The 
dining room and kitchen of the ranch house 

[28] 



were in use all the time, but other rooms 
were closed except when Mrs. Monroe spent 
her time there. 

The men stayed in the bunkhouse and 
so far as the. reader is concerned at this 
time, the bunkhouse is the most important 
part of the ranch. The ranch house and 
bunkhouse were on a tract of high level 
ground overlooking the root cellar dug into 
the bank, the calf weaningsheds, the saddle 
horse corral, the blacksmith shop, the cattle 
sheds, the hay corral and the round cutting 
and roping corrals, with branding chutes, 
which were on a low level flat. 

The bunkhouse sat back from the ranch 
house, and betv/een it and the lower ground 
occupied by the sheds and corrals before 
mentioned, and was a sort of a rendezvous 
at all times for the men when not occupied 
at their ranch work. This building was a 
one story affair constructed of red cedar logs 
set in the ground stockade fashion. Its one 
outside door was in the center of the long 
[29] 



dimension facing east. The roof supports 
were cedar poles with a cedar log over a foot 
in diameter serving as a ridgei pole, and oth- 
ers almost as large parallel to and half way 
between the ridge pole and the eaves. The 
roof itself, nearly flat, consisted of dirt al- 
most a foot thick and surfaced with finely 
broken rcd scoria from a near-by butte. 
There was no ceiling overhead and the roof 
supports were exposed to view in all their 
massive strength. 

The bunkhouse was fifty-two feet long 
by twenty-four feet in width with two bed- 
rooms on either end entered from the main 
sitting room which occupied the center. This 
sitting room was furnished with an eight- 
foot reading and writing table, a round-burn- 
er Rochester lamp, a number of easy chairs 
of rustic patterns, a couch that could be 
opened up for a bed when needtd to accom- 
modate "reps" in the round-up season, as 
beds at such times were always in demand, 
a round-oak lignite heater used in winter 
[30] 



and left standing over the summer, and an 
Edison phonograph and a case of records on 
top of which lay a somewhat battered-up ac- 
cordeon. 

The fir floor was bare except for half a 
dozen navajo rugs of warm attractive red 
and gray designs, and a pail half full of ashes 
which served as a spittoon and a receptacle 
for cigarette stubs and smokers' ashes. 

On the wall to the right of the entttring 
door was a gun rack — an arsenal with almost 
every sort of fire arm from a Buffalo Spencer 
to an Automatic Colt's. Some of them had 
done market shooting when the Nortborn 
Pacific was building and two — badly rusted — 
had been picked up where Gen. A'fred Sully 
fought the Sioux in the Battle of th&i Bad-^ 
lands August 8, 1864. 

Opposite the door on the west wall was 
an eight day Thomas clock encircled by a 
large pair of elkhorns. Almost all of the 
remaining wall space was taken by the 
mounted heads of elk, black and white tail 
deer, antelope, mountain sheep, and a single 
[31] 



buffalo bull head — ^brought from the Grand 
Rivar in 1885 — one of the last of the wild 
northern buffalo herd. A further wall adorn- 
ment consisted of two tapestries — skins 
mounted with full heads — one a silver tip 
bear and the other a mountain lion. 

On the ktft of the door stood a book 
case with shelves filled in the main with 
tales of exploration and wild life. 

On the reading table were copies of tb£. 
Breeder's Gazette, a few rather ancient 
daily papers — as the mails came usually 
about once in two weeks, and a large stack 
of Heart in Hands — running back for several 
years — in whose columns brunettes and 
blondes — by their own admission beautiful 
and high'y accomplisb&d — were just spoiling 
to enter into connubial bliss. 

While awaiting supper the men, who 
had come in from their various duties, were 
pitching a game of horseshoes in front of 
the bunkhous-o. Monroe had gone to the 
Railway Station to meet the train and bring 
out his nephew, but was expected back by 
[32] 




"FIELD GLASS ROCK" 
A clay pedestal surmounted by sandstone. 

(l^hoto by ColHs) 



supper time. They did not have long to 
wait. 

"They's comin' ", said Tex, whereupon 
the boys stopped their game of horseshoes 
and looked toward the east where they could 
see emerging from Coyote Pass the buck- 
board drawn by Jackknife and Gunpowder 
coming in a trot. When the buckboard came 
to a stop in the yard and its occupants 
alighted the boys were there sizing up the 
new arrival. After formal introductions 
Shorty and Si took out the team, unharness- 
ed and turned them into the saddle horse 
pasture, while Tex and Handsome unstrap- 
ped the trunk from the buckboard and car- 
ried it and the traveling bag into a spare 
room in the bunkhouse. 

Everything was new to B. Buttleford 
Frothingham. His quick eye and trainied 
mind took in the surroundings — but as he 
was ignorant of western life he remained 
discreetly silent except when asked a direct 
question. The boys had observed that B. 
[33] 



Buttleford was rather undersized; that he 
had a pale, closcily-housed complexion; that 
his eyes were blue and penetrating ; and that 
his bearing showed gentility and breeding 
and that he put "r" on idea and where that 
letter was needed omitted it entirely. On the 
whole these first impressions were not un- 
favorable. 

Supper being over the men, as was 
their custom, gathered in the bunkhouse 
where associations were always democratic 
and free of restraint. By mutual consent 
Monroe was expaicted to do most of the talk- 
ing on their first evening. B. Buttleford was 
wholly credulous and was prepared to hear 
unusual and strange things. On this score 
the westemt&rs always measure up to their 
opportunities. The subject of conversation 
was not prearranged, yet the boys were sure 
Monroe would sustain a reputation he had 
been years in acquiring. 

When cigarettes were rolled and pipes 
filled Tex opened up — "We'll all have to go 
[34] 



to Medory on the 15th to help 'em ride the 
outlaws," and then turning his head toward 
Frothingham, "Did you ever see 'em ride an 
outlaw?" 

"No," said the latter. "I have read Emer- 
son Hough's Story of the Outlaw, but I 
didn't know they rode them I thought they 
hung them." 

If this had not bean said with such a 
beaming innocence all would have violated 
their sense of good breeding by laughing out- 
right, but as it was no one even smiled. Mon- 
ro(£i, to save his nephew from embarrass- 
ment began : 

"The outlaw we mean is different. You 
are a tenderfoot, or as we call them here, a 
juniper. Shorty, opeoi the windows so the 
lamp will not heat up the room, I'll explain 
to the kid what an outlaw horse is." 

B. Buttleford felt that he had blunder- 
ed but he did not know how or where. He 
wtilcomed this opportunity of getting the 
information he needed and at a time and 
[35] 



place where he might ask even foolish ques- 
tions without any fear of embarrassment. 
Ha was all ears and nodded for Monroe to 
continue. 

"Life with you in Boston consists of a 
permutation of baked beans, codfish balls 
and first editions ; while with us accomplish- 
ment is measured in terms of excellence in 
riding, roping and handling tb&i gun. 

To begin with, unconquerable vice in 
horses is found at infrequent intervals and 
is less often than supposed due to cruelty 
and misunderstandings. Originally the horse. 
was a wild animal as vicious and untamed 
as the giraffe, the zebra, or the Bengal tiger. 
When Cortez invaded Mexico in 1513 he 
brought horses with him, the first ever seen 
on the American continent. Some of these 
horses escaped and reverted to the feral 
state, from which they sprang. Mustang, 
cayuse, Indian pony, bronco, are terms ap- 
plied rather loosely to the sma.l horses of 
the plains. A bronco is really a green un- 
[36] 



broken horse. An outlaw is n&ver a green 
horse but is one that all efforts to subdue 
have failed. He makes a reputation for de- 
viltry and labors to sustain it, under any and 
all circumstances. Sometimes in breaking 
a horse the "buster" will inoculate meanness 
into him, which turns him against man, but 
as a general thing, outlawry is due to wild- 
ness combined with a diabolical nature. A 
green horse usually pitches but he is not 
schooled in the art and any ordinary rider, 
as we use the term rider in the west, can 
ride him straight. But let a bronc with a 
Satanic disposition throw his rider sevaral 
times and he may become a demon. He feels 
the vertigo of power. It grows on him and 
embellishas him. He accepts the homage of 
his kind. Such homage I verily believe 
feeds his vanity and enthrones passions and 
insures the growth and triumph of omeri- 
ness. A horsia that breaks in two every 
time one gets on him and wipes up the scen- 
ery until the rider, with undignified reluc- 

[37] 



tance, severs personal relations with him, is 
called an outlaw. Every outlaw dispenser of 
agony has his own peculiar method of admin- 
istering the traumatic shock. You have cer- 
tainly heard of some of these old twisters 
that have written their hie jacets in the boot- 
hiil burying ground of the Northwest. A few 
of the candidates for the laquestrian hall of 
infamy I might name at random, are Steam- 
boat, The Powder River Spinner, Midnight, 
Tango, Wild Cat, Dynamite, Spokane Key- 
stone and Vesuvius. Whiki each has his 
peculiar claims to remembrance, Vesuvius 
was, in some respects, the most noted and 
right here and now is a good time for m'£. to 
give you a brief and colorless account of his 
outlawry. 

"Vesuvius was born in the badlands on 
the winding little Missouri River and spent 
his life among the stecip clay buttes and 
deep gorges adjacent. As a colt Vesuvius 
scaled unfooted crags capped by friable 
scoria and swept by unarrested winds. Wheal 
[38] 



older he gathered his nourishment from the 
dry grass and the stunted sage which grow 
in these wild regions. His drink was usual- 
ly tinctured and often strongly impregnated 
with alkali. He was battered by blizzards in 
winter and maniacal winds in summer. 
Whether these things had a bearing on the 
development of his tempeir and disposition I 
can not say. I am merely stating facts and 
will leave you free to draw what seems to 
you the most obvious conclusions. 

"I have had a nodding acquaintance with 
Vtfiuvius for a number of years. I have seen 
him at his best and at his worst, and in 
every mood between. In person, Vesuvius 
got more than a passing notice from any 
horseman that looked upon him. This at- 
tention came, as I sea it, not from his beauty 
or loveliness of form or evenness of temper, 
but rather from the spell he seamed to cast 
over one. You have heard of a bird's being 
charmed by a rattle snake. There you havti 
it. In color Vesuvius was a dun with a dark 
[39] 



stripe down his back. He was slender in 
body with slightly arching ridge pole and a 
cut up flank, which betokened speed. His 
leg bones were small and flat and the 
muscles attached to them well rounded, 
hard and elastic. His chest was wide, and 
ribs well sprung, giving assurance of activi- 
ty even without a forced draft. His feet 
were flinty and round and in the most try- 
ing embarrassment he always lighted right 
side up. His neck was long and slender and 
he habitually held his head low, indicating 
a certain cautious modesty, and in this case, 
a malignant self-relianca bom of undefeat. 
His nostrils were large, his eyes small and 
sinister, showing a preponderance of white, 
and his ears pointed and alert and on th'& 
lookout for danger. 

"But I know you are little concerned 
with the outward form of Vesuvius. He is 
known best by what he has done. A marvel 
of 'aquine vitality was his. No one who has 
ever seen him in action can forget his dilat- 
ing nostrils, his ear-piercing screams, his 
[40] 



foam-flecked mouth, his heaving bellows, his 
savage breathing. His frenzy in action was 
|£\nough to chill the incentive of any buck- 
aroo. The character of Vesuvius defies the 
static limitations of language. In disposi- 



tion he was a cross between a Bengal tiger 
and a hyena — a compound of Apache cun- 
ning, an alkali dust storm in D&ath's Valley 
and a Mexican revolution. Even at that his 
conscience never heckled him. He was so 
cautious that he could walk in fresh snow 
without leaving tracks and his caution took 
second place to his suspicion. It S'&emed as 
if fortune had exhausted its resentment 
against him and he in turn passed it on in 
full measure heaped up and pressad togeth- 
er. The very thought of riding Vesuvius 
was accompanied with meditation and pray- 
er. Every advantage that could be accordad 
a rider was given. He was allowed to hobble 
his stirrups, dampen his chaps, pull leather. 
All range rules wera suspended by common 
consent and no one was expected to ride him 
[41] 



straight, much less quirt him on the should- 
er or rake him down the hip. No one will- 
ingly volunteered to mount Vesuvius unless 
he were a member of a suicide club, or else 
were jibed or dragooned into doing so by the 
heckling of the bystanders. When volun- 
teers were called for, every buckaroo wished 
he were a matron of a foundling asylum in- 
stead of a rider with a r&putation he felt 
like living up to. In some ways Vesuvius 
was an anomaly. Contrary to what you 
might expect he stood fairly still to be sad- 
dled. All that was necessary was to get a Tom 
Horn on his front feet. Ontt never had to 
throw and hog tie him, put a blind fold on, 
twist his nose or bite an ear. Really I think 
his good conduct while being saddled is due 
to his consciousness of power. Bucking 
with him is no pastime, it is a profession. 
No one ever long stood the fury of his hurri- 
cane deck, the serpentine coruscations, the 
sunfishing gyrations of this veritable verti- 
go of terror. At the first jump he usually 
[42] 



drove the rid^ir's head through the crown of 
his Stetson; at the second the riders' cervi- 
cal vertebrae periscoped his cranium unless 
it were case hardened, and what happened 
at the third jump is a mystery we are just 
now trying to clear up. Preliminary to the 
riding, hackamores were put on the tender- 
fecit like you, who happened by chance to be 
among the onlookers, so as to prevent their 
getting frightened away into the badlands 
and lost. 

"Well do I remember that 20th day of 
July, 1915, when the. last attempt was made 
to ride Vesuvius. It was a superb day, clear 
and calm. Fully five hundred people had 
gathered to witness what was hoped would 
prove a solution to a mystery that had for 
y&ars confounded all scientific speculation. 
Really, preparation was made not so much to 
ride Vesuvius, as not one of us believed this 
could be done, but rather to solve the mys- 
tery of what became of his riders as not one 
had ever been heard of since making the at- 

[43] 



tempt. To this end a full laboratory of sup- 
plies was provided, including moving pic- 
ture machines, cameras, microscop&s, tele- 
scopes, microtomes, slides, and retorts. Ob- 
servation stations were erected here and 
tbare in advantageous places and when all 
was in readiness, Brazos Bob came out all 
booted, spurred and chapped, as a willing 
clinic in the interest of scientific research. 
He was known as a fearless rider and for 
years he had never pulled leather. It was 
customary when bad horses were to ba rid- 
den on Round-up days to bring out a first 
aid pack and a stretcher, an improvised am- 
bulance department was held in readiness, 
and a searching party was organized to 
bunch the remains. Not so when Vesuvius 
was up. Past experience had taught us that 
with him it was Hunnish completeness — 
"Spurlos Versenkt". As I said, Brazos Bob 
was to be the ridaa*. Before presenting him- 
self he disposed of his personal trinklets to 
those bound to him by the ties of affection, 
[44] 



preparatory to his certain translation. In 
truth, Brazos told me before hand that he 
did not expect a different result than had be- 
fallen the four buckaroos who had previous- 
ly tried to ride Vesuvius. He was not afraid, 
but felt elated that opportunity offered him 
such a signal service in the interest of 
science. There was a lack of the usual ba- 
dinage indulged in on such occasions. The 
crowd was funereal in its b&havior. When 
Brazos mounted, Vesuvius started spinning 
on a space not larger than a silver dollar 
and so fast that the camera left only a misty 
blur. Suddenly he unlimbered, or more pro- 
perly began to unwind, and fly off in tang- 
ents, all the while belching forth hot blasts 
from his crematory. The earth shook as if 
a battery of 75's wer& firing at will. These 
movements were only preliminary to the 
final hemorrhage, when with a detonation as 
if a charge of TNT had been released inside 
him, he simply suspended the laws of gravi- 
ty, quit the earth and I think tried to paw 
[45] 



the white out of the moon. As before, Ve- 
suvius' efforts were mad, overpowering, 
triumphant. So far as my memory goes, not 
even a trace of thai rider or his paraphernalia 
has ever been found that would smear a slide 
or stain a retort. All that Vesuvius left as 
evidence of his struggle was a mirage of 
dust, a heated ground, a few wefts of grass 
and mishappen foot-prints, petrified in the 
sun-baked sod. 

"I can not overstate the horrors of the 
scene. Almost without exception the on- 
lookers were left suffering with cas'&s of 
paralysis agitans, which continued for some 
days and subsided with little or no treat- 
ment. This matter, I understand, has been 
laid b&fore the American Medical Associa- 
tion and a full report is expected at its next 
meeting. 

"The facts stated above are given by the 

bacteriologist and metalurgist spasialists, 

substantially as I have narrated them and 

will be found printed in Vol. 369 of the 

[46] 



Smithsonian Institute Reports, if you care to 
read them. 

"We are still trying to find the missing 
riders. Some think they were thrown be- 
yond the earth's atmosphere and freed from 
the air's r&sistance, may have dropped far 
off, like the long range shells upon Paris. 
Personally, I do not think it well to specu- 
ate, since we have Wm. J. Bums and Sher- 
lock Holmes working on the matter, and 
while they admit the case baffling in the ex- 
treme, yet their pride will not let their ef- 
forts relax and they hope to have some tang- 
ible theory to pres'&mt before long. Until 
some decision is reached, let us hold our ver- 
dict as little can be gained by discussing this 
unusual mystery. To withhold judgment at 
this time is further commended in that it 
shows a spirit of fairness and will not inter- 
fere with the investigations or prejudge the 
subsequent findings of the detectives. Being 
from Boston you have no doubt read James' 
The Will to Believe' ". 

[47] 



During the course of the narrative the 
ranch boys supported Monroe with absorb- 
ing faces and frequent nods of approval 
Frothingham looked puzzled at two or three 
statements in the narrative and had to 
strain to comprehend what was meant, but 
nevtir a trace of doubt crossed his counten- 
ance. 

As a final confirmation Monroe added: 
"If the kid here", referring to Frothingham, 
"has the least doubt of the truth of what I 
have said he is at liberty to ask any on&i who 
was present at the Roundup for a corrobora- 
tion". 

"I was there" drawled Tex, "You shore 
told the truth". 

It was almost ten and a hard day's ride 
up the Big Dry and Skull Creek on the 
morrow. 

Lights went out; the stars shone 

brightly through the undraped windows. 

Everything was still, but for the querulous 

ye'ping of a few distant coyot'cs. Yank, for 

[48] 



I— I 

o 

o 

<! 



35 







such was our Boston friend named by Si, 
looked blanched and nervous on retiring and 
slept fitfully during the night — probably due 
to the loss of baked beans and codfish balls 
from his menu. 



L49] 




NUGGET 

UGGET Is no more. Though he had 
lived his allotted time his depart- 
ure bears the aspact of a calamity 
— for he was my friend. He has 
left a place in my affection that 
equine flesh can not fill. If you have ever 
owned, and used and loved a good horse no 
apology need be made for sharing in my 
grief. 

Nugget was only a cow horse, and to 
say that he was a good ona is to give the 
highest praise — as no other avenue of use- 
fulness is so demanding in strength and in- 
telligence. His sire — Redbox — ^was a 
thoroughbr&d used in the range breeding 
herd on a badlands ranch in western North 
Dakota. On his sire's side his ancestors 
fought with William of Normandy; careered 
in gilded pageantry on the "Field of the Cloth 

[50] 



of Gold"; lent distinction and knightly 
prowess to the jousts at Windsor; consort- 
ed with kings at their coronation; and con- 
tested for speed honors in New Market 
Heath, the Derby, and later, in blue grass 
company, at Lexington. 

On his dam's side his ancestors adorn- 
ed the Remuda of a Mexican Vaquero and 
probably as Indian Cayuse was a part of the 
travois cavalcade of Geronimo, Roman Nose 
and Red Cloud, and no doubt his ancestors* 
bones, rasped by coyotets and bleached in the 
sun, are now strewn in nameless obscure 
corners of the western range country. 

In arching neck, breadth of forehtiad, 
lambent eyes, silken main and tail, round 
barrel, elastic step and poetry of action Nug- 
get left little to be desired. He had the in- 
telligence, resolution, speed and endurance 
of the thoroughbred without his excitabili- 
ty. In limb he was lithe and sinewy; in 
pastern strong and springy ; while in general 
build he was inclined to the low-down stock- 

[51] 



iness of the cow-horse rather than to the 
legginess of the thoroughbred. In fact he 
was a cow-horse — and his quality was at- 
tested by every muscle and vein which stood 
out in becoming relief through his short 
silken hair — black as a raven's wing. 

Nugget reveled in the wild free life of 
the big untamed prairies. He went straight- 
forward — never see-sawing, looking for a 
path or road. He did his work with little 
coaxing and no abuse. Such a horse usually 
develops bj&mishes and early decrepitude; 
not so with Nugget. While he was a free 
goer, yet he conserved his strength and 
seemed always to have a battery of latent 
energy for use in emergency. Not occasion- 
ally, but often he surprised his rider by ac- 
complishing a feat the rider thought impos- 
sible). There are many horses that can carry 
a rider, over a long straight-away journey. 
But the test of skill comes in surmounting 
difficulties — cutting out a rebellious steer 
on slippery sod, heading bunch-quitters out 
[52] 



of almost inaccessible breaks; with precar- 
ious footing dragging a bog- victim to safety ; 
holding his feet on icy paths overhanging 
palpitating chasms; keeping right side up 
when running at break-neck speed over 
rough ground and rolling boulders ; or when 
far from the ranch and help, to hold a "bon- 
ed" steer, wild by nature and enraged by 
suffering, until the rider could dislodge the 
obstruction. Thes's. are some of the tests 
that every cowhorse has to meet and unless 
he meets them safely and unflinchingly he 
can lay no claims to being a cowhorse. 

A saddle horse is an equal, a companion, 
and friend; a work horse is a servant, a 
slave. We esteem the former for his per- 
sonal human traits; and the latter for the 
work he gets done. When I say this I do not 
mean that the work horse is a mere machine. 
He is more than a machine, yet his value is 
measured primarily in foot pounds; while 
tba saddle horse is primarily a co-operating 
partner whose value is too intimate and per- 
[53] 



sonal to be stated in terms of money. I say 
this without any depreciation of the noble, 
patient, plodding, faithful work horse; for I 
yield to none in my estimation of his worth. 

There were no metes and bounds to 
Nugget's endurance. He could go to the end 
of the road, turn around and come back 
again, and there was never a time when you 
had the feeling that he would not accomplish 
all you wanted him to do. Some horses are 
easy under the saddle; others are rough, «eis- 
pecially one that has been stiffened by work 
or is untrained. Nugget was not rough in 
any gait, yet he especially excelled in a 
graceful, voluptuous, swinging lope that was 
exhilarating rather than tiresome. He was 
never trained on the track yet he and three, 
half brothers came out second in a relay 
race at the North Dakota State Fair at Far- 
go. 

In roping I have never seen his equal. 
When the rope tightened on the ensnared 
animal he was always in position to resist 
[54] 



the shock and no amount of kicking and 
bellowing effort on its part was of avail. He 
knefw when to give, v/hen to set his brakes, 
when to go into reverse, and he always 
avoided "entangling alliances". His head 
was working all the time; he knew what he 
could do and no urging was neceissary to 
make him do it. His quiet composure al- 
ways got him out of "mix-ups" whether on 
the rope, in snow-drifts, quick sand, or 
swirling water. 

With his matchless endurance he com- 
bined a ready willingness. A touch of the 
rein to his neck would lead him to clear a 
gulch or nose into an arctic gale of stinging 
snow that only the sheep of the crag might 
face and live. The rideor always felt that 
Nugget was "adequate" — and confident that 
he would come through — which he never 
failed to do, so far as it was equinely possi- 
ble. 

Nugget had no faults urgent for correct- 
ion. When tightening the cinch he would 
[55] 



sometimes lay back his ears and bite play- 
fully but never in anger. He would rogueish- 
ly do the same thing when you gave him one 
apple core and he thought you ought to 
have another about you. Thes'a only served 
to prove his humanity. 

No man who loves a good horse can be 
wholly bad. The contact with domestic ani- 
mals teaches loyalty, mercy, justice and 
kindliness — traits that this work-a-day 
world needs above all else. A ride on Nug- 
get after a hard day's work in doors was to 
clasp hands of reconciliation across the 
chasm; to drown troubles in the waters of 
Lethe; to turn back the hands on the dial of 
Chronos ; to drink of the waters of youth. Al- 
most any horse will giva pleasure, but Nug- 
get had a rare quality which added a finali- 
ty to satisfaction. To characterize him is 
to deal in superlatives. "The gift of speech 
alone, makes masters". 

Nugg&t was so gentle that woman or 
child was safe in his keeping and he was 

[56] 



beloved by all. No one can acquire lovable 
attributes by associating with a four, or 
six, or even an eight cylinder machine. The 
normal human being wants flesh and blood 
on which to develop and lavish affection. 
Some of the sweetest r&collections of youth 
are connected with a saddle pony. Machines 
and flats are robbing the boys and girls of 
their birthright. The gymnasium and the 
golf ground may furnish competitive exer- 
cise for the gregarious and the gibbous but 
they lack the reciprocal elements so promin- 
ent in horse-back riding — that of coopera- 
tion. But I babble. 

One of tba rarest and most valued 
traits of Nugget's character was the inher- 
ent kindness ingrained in his very nature 
that in times of severest strain he did not 
lose. No sacrifice was too great and no road 
too long for him to take for his friend. His 
disposition in youth was sweet and winning ; 
and since it was never calloused by injustice, 
it remained so to the end. 

[57] 



Every cowman who reads this little trib- 
ute is bristling up ready to contest Nug- 
get's right to so high a place in my affec- 
tions. "Shake, old boy. You're one of the 
princes' of earth. You're no cowman unless 
you can erase the name Nugget and substi- 
tute that of your own favorite." 

In short, human affection Nugget had, 
such as is possible to those that serve under 
the saddle, never to those that slave in the 
harness; endurance tested in a hundred 
memorable rides; surefootedness, tried in a 
thousand embarrassments; and what are 
more important a cheerful obedience and a 
willingness to attempt the impossible. 

Nugget, inalienable tenant of my heart, 
farewell ! 

"I shall not look upon his like again." 



[58] 




HORSE THIEF SPRINGS 

HILE Working with one of the W 
Bar wagons we camped one night 
at Horse Thief Springs. No evi- 
dences of former habitation re- 
mained except an old shack dug 
into the bank. 

All had just lighted their pipes and 
were sitting around the camp stova in the 
bed tent. There was some curiosity express- 
ed as to how the springs got their name. 
"You know, don't you, Bill?" asked one of 
the young riders. 

This question was directed to one Bill 
Evans. 

"Yes, I ought to know all about it," stat- 
ed he succinctly. 

Now Evans was a man of fine principles 
and a terror to outlaws, a man six feet in 
height, spare built but muscular. He had 
[59] 



been Sheriff of old Billings County when it 
included an area as lai;;ge as some of the 
Eastern States. All knew from experience, 
that it was useless to try to cajole, bluff or 
buy him. He came over the trail from Texas 
and had worked for tha old Three Sevens a 
number of years. 

All was silent and he continued: 
"When I was first elected Sheriff there 
had been complaint about losing hors'£\s by 
ranchers living up and down the Little Miss- 
ouri. No one seemed to know what become 
of the horses and no one ev&n suspicioned 
who was getting away with them. I knowed 
that some one must be taking them acrost 
the line into Montana — ^because the horses 
would've been heard of if they'd gone in any 
other direction. This is a big county to ride 
over and I just naturally give mys&lf no 
rest — until I could find who the horse thieves 
were. Some of you may remember that a 
stock protective association was organized 
to break up this gang of rustlers and every- 

[60] 



body was on the watchout for them, and we 
calculated to make them stretch hemp, if 
we found them. But horses kept coming up 
missing. Finally I makes up my mind that 
this here shack was housing the thieves. I 
lay close down on the hill over there a mile 
north and watched with my field glasses for 
several days. One reason I thought they 
were a doing the work was because they had 
little else to do. They pretended to be wolf- 
ing, and I never heard of them getting but 
a few and their hides were tacked up on the 
front of the shack to make as much show as 
possible. I was by there observing several 
different times and I alius noticed that the 
same hides were there. 

"But, as I was a going to say early one 
morning when I was watching from the top 
of the hill I saw two men a coming from the 
Southwest just below Five Points. I laid 
close and just waited. In kss than an hour 
they comes riding up to the shack, gets off 
and unsaddles and begins to get breakfast. 
[61] 



When the smoke was coming out a plenty I 
crawls down the off side of the butte, where 
they couldn't see me, and crep' down to my 
horse, which I had picketed in the clump of 
trees in that big gulch over there, wh&re he 
woud be out of sight. As Chaney and Carter 
come up, for these were the names of the 
thieves, I noticed that their horses were a 
moving powerful slow. They looked all peter- 
ed out and carried their heads low. I made up 
my mind then that they had come a long dis- 
tance — at least a full night's ride from some 
place where they had some pals. From the 
direction they come and the distance they 
could make in a night's ride — by riding hard, 
I calculated that they must 'uv come from 
over on Cabin Creek Montana. 

"So I got on my horse and rode to Sen^ 
tinel Butte — the telegraph station, as fast 
as I could go, and notified the sheriffs of 
Dawson and Custer Counties over in Mon- 
tana and also Pussyfoot Cameron, the live 
stock inspector of Miles City, to meet me at 
[62] 



Glendive the following night, as I had game 
to windward. Now they hain't been no bet- 
ter men than these three. We m'£«t as ar- 
ranged and decided just what we'd do. 
Above all we wanted to get tha thieves and 
break up the gang. The four of us agreed 
to work in from different directions toward 
Cabin Creek where I made up my mind we'd 
find them. 

"I knowed Chaney and Carter would be 
idle for at least four or five days for their 
horses to rest before they'd size up another 
bunch of horses for their next trip to Cabin 
Creek. We rather suspected that the stolen 
horses wetre being taken by a line of relays 
clear up into Canada — and this afterwards 
proved to be the case. 

"Inside of three days riding we located 
a shack in a rough gulch on the head of 
Cabin Creek — ^that had a lookout butte near 
it, and was a fit place for range deviltry. Two 
men and a woman, r&ported to be the wife 
of one of the men, lived there. We had a 
[63] 



couple of pack horses with us with a little 
grub — and couple of bed rolls, as ranchers 
were far apart. After locating the shack 
we didn't dare get far away because we ex- 
pected Chaney and Carter to be coming 
along in a few days with another band of 
stokin horses, which would be passed along 
to the next station, as we believed by the 
two we had located. So we just laid low 
and kep' our eyes open. 

"We didn't have to wait long, however. 
On the second night about four o'clock Pussy- 
foot and me were awakened by the sound 
of horses' hoofs. We were stationed near a 
trail that k.d to the Cabin Creek shack. We 
crawled out, as we had our clothes on, and 
buckled on our pistols and with guns in 
hand, crep' up close to the road and by lay- 
ing down could skylight the whole outfit and 
not be seen eith&r. 

"There they were, two men on horse- 
back driving a small band of about thirty 
horses. They seemed to ba minding their 
own business, so we let them go right on. 
[64] 



H 

&' 



> 
o 
a 




lH^ 



i^: 



"In about twenty minutes we noticed a 
light in the house — which confirmed our sus- 
picions. Carter and Chaney had undoubted- 
ly gone in to get breakfast and would pro- 
bably sleep during the day, or at least, that 
is the way we doped it out. So while Pussy- 
foot just watched I sneaks around about a 
half a mile to the west to see that our part- 
ners — the two sheriffs, were hipped to what 
was going on. They were already wise to 
what was doing, had rolled their bed and 
were waiting for word from us. We agreed 
to close in to within one hundred fifty yards 
of the house before it got light and lay low 
until daylight. We left our horses back 
where we had kep' them over night — as we 
knowed they'd be sure to nicker if we brung 
them up in sight of the loose horses and the 
jig would be up. 

"So we just tramped around, enough to 

k'Eiep from getting too stiff, as it was purty 

chilly at that time a morning, and waited for 

daylight. As soon as it got light enough for 

[65] 



a white handkerchief in the hands of Pussy 
to be seen from the opposite hill where the 
two sheriffs crouched — he give a signal and 
we walked up slow-like to within seventy-five 
yards of the house. There was no light 
showing in the shack except on the side 
where Pussy and me stood. The bed rooms 
was on the opposite side and our two pals 
could see nothing. Pussy and me could 
make out the indistinct forms of two men 
through the window — in the dim light of the 
small kerosene lamp. We raised our gUns 
and fired. Just at that instant two men ran 
out of the door at a two-forty gait for the 
barn, which was a little log and sod affair at 
the bottom of the gulch. We let a few shots 
loose in their direction to keep them moving 
swiftly and I'll be blamed if we didn't make 
a plumb miss, as it was still too dark to see 
our gun sights, and they got on their horses, 
took up a gulch and got clear away." 

Here Evans stopped — shook th& ashes 
from his pipe, picked up a sprig of buck 
[66] 



brush and began to clean his pipe stem. 

But young Lowery one of the listeners, 
impatiently asktd : "Didn't you hit either of 
them?" 

"Well, continued Evans slowly "the wo- 
man was then making a great hullaballoo 
so we went to the house to see what the 
trouble was all about, and what do you 
think? Theire were two dead men on the 
floor both of them shot in a vital part of the 
body — one of them passed for the husband 
of the woman who was stirring up such a 
commotion. A smoking pot of coffee and a 
skillet of bacon were on the stove and we 
needed no invitation to fall to and help our- 
selves. We turned the two bodies over and 
see that nothing short of the judgment day 
would bring them to — so we drug them out 
into the bed room and spread a horse blanket 
over them. Being as they were already 
dead we couldn't be no more help to her. We 
brought up our saddle horses and give them 
a bite of hay. While they were eating we 
[67] 



just naturally explored around a little. We 
found a pole shed covered with old hay — 
built back into the bank. It was closed up 
and dark. We opened the door and there 
before our eyes were about thirty head of 
horses, all T's from the old D6«p Creek 
ranch. Horses of the same brand are used 
to running together and drive in a band with 
little trouble — ^while horses picked here and 
there will not stay together and will wear 
saddle horses out to get them over th&t road. 
This is why they stole in straight brands. 

"So we turned the horses out — to start 
them towards home. This was the morn- 
ing of March 12th. The weather had been 
warm for the time of year for two weeks 
and there wasn't no snow on the ground. 
The snow was just a commencing — and we 
pulled out toward home mighty quick, to 
where we knowed of a ranch on Beaver 
Creek where we could get a flop if the bliz- 
zard come on as it 'peared to be doing. We 
reached the ranch by noon and stayed there 
[68] 



for four days — and such a turrible blizzard I 
never see before or since. The wind was 
so strong it would hold a rope straight out." 

"Didn't you ever see the men who got 
away", ''Were they Carter and Chaney"? 
was asked. 

"No, we didn't see them any more. 
About the middle of April a sheepherder 
found the bodies of two men southwest of 
Sentinel Butte. They were just beginning 
to thaw out after the deep snow drift that 
covered them had melted. The bodies were 
Carter's and Chaney 's. We come on the 
shack so unexpectedly on Cabin Creek — and 
in their haste to make their get away they 
didn't get their overshoes or overcoats on. 
They undoubtedly started for home here, to 
this very shack, but the blizzard caused thom 
to lose their way and both just naturally 
froze to death. One horse was found dead 
with the saddle on and the other saddle was 
found — ^but not tha horse. 

"This was the beginning of the break- 
up of the worst gang of horse rustlers I ever 

[69] 



knowed of, and since that time these springs 
have been called Horse Thief Springs. 

"You can't tell me anything about that 
blizzard" said Sid Monroe, the roundup 
foreman, "I was in it too." 



[70] 




THE BANKER'S PLOT 

FTER Some urging all waited ex- 
pectantly. 

Whereupon Monroe straighten- 
ed up from his reclining posture 
on his bed roll, draped one leg 
over the other, clasped his hands over his 
knee and began: 

"I have lived in this man's country ever 
since 1902 and for fifteen years before, but 
I want to say in all that time I have not seen 
tbe equal of that March blizzard either in 
length of duration or intensity. Now don't 
get into your mind that this blizzard was a 
common snow storm. Not on your life. 
When I was a college student on the Atlantic 
seaboard I saw some heavy snow storms 
there, but to compare one of them to the 
blizzard of 1902 is to compare the Tower 
of Babel with the tin whistle on a toy loco- 
motive. 

[71 [ 



"The winter of 1901-2 I spent on Third 
Creek, not a great way from the old Logging 
Camp. As some of you may recall, the Log- 
ging Camp was so named because this was 
the point that the railroad ties, hauled from 
the Cave Hills, wera dumped into the Little 
Missouri and floated to Medora in 1881 when 
the Northern Pacific was building. I said, 
I spent the winter on Third Creek, but as a 
matter of fact only that part of it up to the 
tenth of March. The winter was considered 
easy, aside from this one blizzard, and where 
feed was plentiful cattle came through in 
splendid shape. The summer of 1901 was 
dry and grass was not so good as usual, and 
hay, except stacks carried over for several 
years, was scarce and of poor quality. My 
cattle had come through in fairly good con- 
dition but the grass was about all gone from 
the territory tributary to Third Creek. In 
fact the range close around the ranch was 
so bare that one could not have got enough 
grass on an acre with the use of a grubbing 
[72] 



hoe to make a bantam's nest. When our cat- 
tle were rounded up and a wagon load of 
necessary supplies was loaded we were ready 
to start. The summer camp was located 
some six miles north of Rainey Butte, on the 
left bank of the Cannon BaU. It is usually 
dangerous to move cattle out of the bad- 
lands into the open prairie so early in the 
season, as there is some risk from spring 
squalls until the middle of May. But my 
necessity was such that the cattle had to be 
moved to new feeding grounds, the danger, 
as I saw it then, being greater in the bad- 
lands from lack of feed than from lack of 
protection against an occasional snow storm 
on the high level lands. For some days be- 
fore my departure with the herd the weather 
had been mild and every vestige of snow had 
disappeared, but in doing so it had filled 
every pool, pond and creek with water. For 
two successive nights even the water in 
small pools had not frozen, birds weo-e twit- 
tering in the trees and every evidence, ex-^ 
cept the calendar, pointed to spring. 
[73] 



My wife and a son of twelve years set 
out with the wagon loaded with household 
supplies, and a small amount of wood, to 
take care of immediate necessities, until we 
could make another trip. Two men and my- 
self followed with the cattle herd — about 
1000 in number. This was all the cattle we 
had gathered except some fifty head that 
were under feed in the corrals, consisting 
of thin cows and a few young calves and non- 
descripts. On the evening of March 11th we 
dropped the cattle some five or six miles 
north of the Cannon Ball, where they had 
plenty of fine feed and could get water from 
pools everywhere. The sky was clear and 
we had neither apprehension nor premoni- 
tion of evil. The wagon carrying my wife 
and son moved faster than the cattle and 
reached the summer camp several hours 
ahead of the herd contingent, which I accom- 
panied. When we arrived it was late in the 
evening but we found that they had unload- 
ed the bedding, and other plunder, and had 

[74] 



a good fire going and everything looking 
home-like. The summer camp had stoves of 
its own that were left there over the winter, 
and also some cupboards, wall furniture, 
and just enough chairs and bedsteads to 
leave the place picturesquely barren. 

A little lignite had been left over in the 
coal house which had slacked to what seem- 
ed a shapeless mass of dust, but the wagon 
had brought in enough wood to last us for 
a week under expected conditions, so when 
we went to bed that night all were in the 
best of spirits. Wtt were up before day 
light. The sky was overcast with rather 
ominous dark gray clouds and a gentle wind 
of some ten to fifteen miles an hour was 
blowing from the north by a little west. By 
the time it was broad day light the blizzard 
began with a gentle fall of icy pellets, which 
changed rapidly to microscopic snow sift- 
ings, increasing in intensity with the grow- 
ing velocity of the wind. Soon the air was 
filled with horizontal veils of snow moving 

[75] 



in regular pulsebeats, and on the ground 
serpentine waves sped before the wind — 
crawling and sinister. As the storm pro- 
gressed these surging gusts changed to a 
sustained tempest of arctic rigor filled with 
continuous blinding snow sheets. 

"The cattle had not had time to get lo- 
cated on their new range and even under the 
best conditions would be somewhat unsettl«^ 
ed. We had no sheds or wind breaks at the 
summer camp and in consequence were not 
prepared for severe weather. At this sea- 
son of the year the cattle are always thin 
and they can not stand the grief they endure 
in the fall when they have more tallow on 
them. So leaving my wife and son at the 
camp, who I knew would make things as com« 
fortable as possible, no easy task as the 
house was not built to withstand cold weath- 
er, my two men and I set out on horseback 
to ride on the cattle which we were sure 
would be ill at ease and possibly drifting be- 
fore the storm at this very moment. No 
[76] 



rancher ever had more faithful men than the 
two who accompanied me. They were good 
riders, judicious, reliable, and thoroughly 
trained cowmen. I do believe that both of 
them would have remained with the cattle 
until they perished if I had given them the 
word to stay, or if there had been any chance 
of their saving the lives of the cattle by so 
doing. The three horses we rode had no 
superiors and in addition to innate good 
qualities they had been used as winter 
horses and had been oat feed and were equal 
to the most trying emergency. 

"As was expected we found the cattle 
scattered over a territory several miles wide 
— all on the go and voicing an instinctive 
terror of the coming storm. Up to this time 
I had little foreboding, as so often we have 
snow flurries at this season that last only 
an hour or two, followed by balmy weatheir, 
but the cattle were so frenzied that I almost 
lost hope of trying to do anything with them. 
Animals have instincts that are surer guides 
[77] 



to their personal safety than all man's intell- 
igence, and judging by their terror I expect- 
ed the storm would be a record-breaker. The 
fear of monetary loss did not occur to me at 
the time, though the petty savings of years 
were bound up in this band of cattle, but up- 
permost in my mind was a feeling for their 
safety as their breeding and tending had 
given me a personal interest in their welfare. 
"The greatest danger from storms, I 
knew, came when the creeks were full of wa- 
ter, just as they were at this time. The wind 
was in the direction that would push the 
cattle directly into the tortuous windings of 
the Cannon Ball, in spite of all human 'eiff orts 
to prevent it. I reasoned that even if an ani- 
mal got through the water the chilling blast 
after it climbed out would be too much for 
it to endure. I even went so far as to con- 
sider making an effort to take the herd back 
against the wind over our old trail into some 
sheltered gorges of the badlands. Such an 
effort, of course, was futile in the face of the 

[78] 



blizzard, now in progress, and besides it was 
too far to the badlands to offer any hope of 
our getting there. 

"We rode to the southeast of the moving 
herd and made an effort to bunch them, 
thinking we might hold the leaders in check 
and possibly get them to milling, which to- 
gether with the sense of security human 
companionship would give them, might stay 
their onward progress. We rode like Co- 
manches, now here, now there, across a wide 
front to check the leaders and if possible 
hold a united front. The snow had blown 
into their hair until the cattle wttre almost 
white and the swirling spume often blinded 
us, making them invisible more than a rod 
or two away. The animals had turned tail 
to the wind, and in trying to stop them we 
were obliged to face the biting blast which 
brought water to our eyes, froze our lashes 
and the stinging snow particles gave a chill- 
ing numbness to our cheeks. The turning, 
and twisting on insecure footing, always at 
[79] 



full speed, soon began to show upon our 
horses. 

"Above the tumult of the storm we could 
hear the crunching of the cattle's feet in the 
cold, dry, pulverized snow and a jingling of 
pendent ice wattles as the cattle shook their 
heads to free their lashes and eyes from the 
blinding siftings — but always onward. The 
temperature continued to fall rapidly and 
the velocity of the wind grew hourly in un- 
bridled vehemence. With hissing quirt and 
much hallooing we would make a momentary 
check in one part of the herd only to find its 
irresistible flow had passed around on both 
sides of us to unite beyond in solid phalanx. 
Then we would fail back, get ahead of the 
herd to present a united front, and repeat, 
but on it came like an avalanche that simply 
overpowered us. It became clear that we 
wera wearying our horses and the cattle to 
no purpose. The leaders in the march were 
the best and strongest cattle, followed by 
the drags more slowly but with an equally 
[80] 



> 

> 
■ D 



M 3 



C5 ^j 

1=; 3 




dogged persistence. It was becoming so un- 
bearably cold that the cattle could live only 
by keeping on the move, and as a last resort 
we tried manfully to turn the course by veer- 
ing it so that it would miss the worst bends 
in the Cannon Ball. Here we met with no 
better success. Instead of saving the cattle 
it now became a question of saving our- 
selves. After a little hurried conference 
with my heroic, but now exhausted, helpers 
we did all that was left for us to do that of- 
fered any hope of success — and even that, 
as you will suspect, a forlorn hope, started 
to find the summer camp. 

"In general we knew the direction of the 
camp, which was at least five miles away. 
To get there we had to three-quarter the 
wind. Our horses that had worked in heavy 
footing so willingly and freely for the past 
several hours had almost used up their 
vitality and found it difficult to take the pun- 
ishment the breasting of the wind demand- 
ed. With bowed heads, so as to protect our 
[81] 



eyes and faces as much as possible, we gave 
free rein to our horses trusting in their in- 
stincts to carry us safely home. There was 
not another ranch for miles in any direction 
and if there had been we could have passed 
by and unless our horses stopped from in- 
stinct we would have passed unknowingly. 
We knew that neither horse nor man could 
stand many hours of such exertion in the 
face of this relentless blizzard. Wc had our 
misgivings. Our horses had stayed only one 
night at the summer camp and it was weary 
miles to the winter camp in the badlands. In 
fact the horses would go or try to go whero 
they thought was home, but we were in 
doubt as to where they might think we want- 
ed to go. Even horse sense can not alv/ays 
divine a man's mind. It was under such 
misgivings that we gave them the rein and 
underwent three hours of excrutiating tor- 
ture, now falling in ravines, now stumbling 
in buffalo wallows or over sage brush, now 
floundering through snow drifts, all with 
[82] 



fatiguing struggle. I'l tell you now that we 
were all dreaming, in a sort of semi-stupor, 
when our horses stopped short. The sudden 
stop rous'&d us from our lethargy. We were 
within ten feet of the south side of the barn 
at the summer camp — but could get only 
momentary glimpses of it even at that dis- 
tance through the swirling snow with our 
half shut 'ayes. Only by painful effort were 
we able to dismount and get our horses in- 
side the barn. Our hands and feet were 
mere clubs, our cheeks were» covered with a 
coat of ice and eyes almost closed. A ting- 
ling sensation at first gave evidence of re- 
turning circulation to hands and feet — fol- 
lowed by excruciating pain. 

"It was nearly four o'clock when we hob- 
bled our way to the house. My wife and son, 
blanched with fear for our safety, were over- 
joyed to welcome us. Thoughtful soul that 
she was, with the help of our son, she had 
brought in wood, a coal box full of lignite, 
in which were a few large pieces that had 
[83] 



been covered by the slack and escaped disin- 
tegration, much to my surprise, and plenty 
of water for household use. They had also 
filled the mangers with hay from an old butt 
of a stack, the last in the stack yards, and 
to cap it all had a steaming pot of coffee on 
the stove and a hot meal ready to put before 
us as soon as we were ready to eat. 

"All three of us had our ears, nose, 
cheeks, feet and hands badly frosted and 
each of us lost at least a finger or a toe as 
a result of our experiences that day. 

"Having nothing else to do we went to 
bed early to get a much needed rest after 
the arduous duties of the day. And I'm tell- 
ing you that my sleep was burdemed with the 
thoughts of the morrow. In all my waking 
moments there was the same monotonous 
creaking of doors and windows, the same 
straining of roof supports, the same flapping 
of loose boards and tar paper, and the same 
whistling and moaning of the wind through 
the gables. 

[84] 



"The next morning we were up early, but 
the prospects were harrowing in the ex- 
treme. I do not believe the U. S. Weather 
bureau has ever cakaidared a day that equals 
in blizzard severity that Saturday. It was 
only with great exertions that we were able 
to reach the bam and care for the simple 
wants of our horses. Sunday was almost if 
not quite as bad — although in the afternoon 
it seemed that the violence was somewhat 
abating — and here the wish may have been 
the father to the thought. 

"The two days we were imprisoned by 
the blizzard we could do nothing but gaze 
spellbound on the storm's fury and grieve in- 
wardly for the suffering of the unhoused ani- 
mals and lament the financial losses that 
would come to the stockmen in all the terri-* 
tory covered by the storm. The snow cry- 
stals, ground to powder, blew like a cloud — 
which no eye could penetrate. The wind 
shrieked and moaned in a fury forbidding 
and cruel. It seemed that the whole world 
[85] 



was lost in a confused roar. Within doors 
watching its relentless, overpowering frenzy, 
we sat dazed in shuddering terror. All day 
Saturday and Sunday the thermometer was 
below zero and the wind maintained an unbe- 
lievable velocity of almost sixty miles an 
hour. Such malignant violence is without 
parallel. About ten o'clock on Sunday even- 
ing the first stars made their appearance 
through the thinning clouds and the wind 
gradually subsided to a stiff breeze. The 
blizzard was over. 

"At daylight on Monday we were all 
astir. The sky was cloudless and the tempera- 
ture stood 24 below zero. Never did slave 
work under the eye of a task master with 
more speed than we. With what few tools 
we had we cleared out the snow from the 
barn doors so we could get feed into the 
horses. Wherever there was a small crack 
the snow had found its way and formed huge 
mounds. In some places drifts were as high 
as the buildings, and hard from the impact 
[86] 



of the wind. We gave the horses time to eat 
while we cleared out around the buildings 
and then saddled and started eastward to 
strike the trail, now obliterated, of the herd, 
as it sped before the piercing blast. 

"Our horses walked over the impacted 
snow, leaving only slight indentations. In 
some places the ground was brushed bare, 
especially where the grass was short. We 
did not ride far until my fears met their 
realization. Since we had left the herd on 
Friday noon it had drifted ceaselessly driven 
by the pitiless gale — and here and there 
leaving the dead hulks of the weaker to 
mark their sorrowful way. Tha force of the 
wind drove them blindly down the general 
course of the Cannon Ball. Being bank full 
and without ice made it a death trap for 
practically all that fell into its congealing 
waters. The cattle's eyes were frozen shut 
with snow in many instances and they walk- 
ed off the banks and were submerged in the 
water, swimming or wading through, clam- 
[87] 



bered out and as soon as the air struck them 
a coat of ice was frozen over their bodies. 
The stronger may have gone through two or 
three crossings, the weaker only through 
one, or at most two, before succumbing. 
Some drowned in the river, some stood en- 
snared in snow drifts, some fell in the open 
encased in icy coats of mail, while others 
with striving decency turned aside into 
eddying niches in the foot hills and there 
sought secrecy to face the last mortal agony. 
"I had not gone far until I realized that 
I was no longer a cattle rancher. Of course 
there were many dead cattle that did not 
carry my brand. Some of them had come for 
miles farther to the northward. Occasional- 
ly we found a few of my original herd still 
alivev genuine relics clinging to the brink of 
immolation, their feet tender, their eyes red 
and swollen, pendant icicles still hanging all 
over them, and showing the general appear-* 
ance of the severe hardships through which 
they had passed. As an after effect of the 
[88] 



blizzard, some of the surviving cattle lost 
their horns, others their tails, others their 
ears, and still others their hoofs, and some 
lost all these members. No more appalling 
sight has ever been seen on the western 
ranges. " 

Here Monroe paused as if his story were 
ended, when a voice piped up from a comer 
of the tent — 

"How were you ever able to get cattle 
enough to run a wagon after your heavy 
loss?" Whereupon slowly Monroe continued: 

"Well, for some time after the blizzard 
was over I continued to ride in the vain ef- 
fort to find the remnants of my cattle — 
many of which I still hoped were alive, but 
my first fears weire less stupefying than the 
facts. As the days wore on my old time op- 
timism and good spirits departed leaving me 
depressed. I was painfully aware that the 
little property I had left would not take care 
of my mortgage indebtedness. My loss had 
been so unlooked for and so staggering, and 
[89] 



my resultant humiliation so complete that it 
seemed as if every spark of hope had been 
taken from me. Being naturally of an op- 
timistic temperament, careful in my invest- 
ments, and inexpensive in personal and 
household habits, caused the blow to strike 
me with redoubled force. I figured over my 
prospects, and painting them more roseate 
than the facts of the case would justify, I 
could see nothing but a loss for my one cred- 
itor and stark penury for myself and wife 
who, even under the dark outlook, remained 
cheerful and uncomplaining. Not once did 
she blame me for moving the cattle from the 
badlands earlier than had been my custom 
— as she knew as well as I did the necessity 
that prompted the removal, although as it 
turned out, if I had kept them in the bad- 
lands the loss would have been small. 

"I had always prided myself on taking 

care of my obligations with promptness and 

hitherto I had never seen a time when I 

could not meet all reasonable financial de* 

[90] 



mands made upon me right on the dot. Now, 
however, I could not do so, try as I might. 
Brooding fear banished sheep from my eyes 
and tossed my frame in nervous agonized 
wakefulness. The old time buoyancy and de- 
cision vanished. My face took on a tired and 
hunted expression, the seamy corrugations 
in my weather-worn visage deepened, and 
my mind vacillated between unrealized hope 
and confronted ill-fortune. The fact that I 
would have to begin at the bottom gave me 
no qualms, but the knowledge that I could 
not pay what I owed lay heavily upon me. 

"If I could get to a new place I felt that 
w& could drown our misfortunes in hard 
work and abject but honorable poverty 
among strangers. I felt a desire to get 
away from it all, from my old friends and 
associates, and dreaded going to town for 
supplies which I would have to do before 
long. Formerly I went in with my head up, 
now I was dejected and downcast. My feel- 
ings may have been induced by a self-con- 

[91] 



sciousness born of a high degree of pride in 
my former standing in the community. I am 
trying to tell you just the way I felt, with- 
out in any way attempting to justify my acts 
and thoughts or the feelings that prompted 
them. I alternated in resolution whether to 
go to my banker in person and turn over 
everything, or whether I should write and 
tell him to come and take charge — and to 
leave between two suns. My feelings would 
be best spared by the latter method, but my 
mind was vacillating and even what at one 
time seemed a settled determination proved 
in the end fleeting, and every decision I made 
lacked anchorage. 

"It was more than a month after the 
blizzard that I made my first trip to town 
to see my banker. It was probably the 
gentle encouragement of my wife that led 
me to make the trip — although I loathed to 
do it. On reaching the place I put my team 
in a livery barn but loitered, as if driven 
by a superior power than my own, until the 
[92] 



bank closed at four o'clock. Really I was 
gratified when I tried the door and found 
the bank closed for the day. I seemed to 
be driven by an indecision which I was 
powerless to overcome. During the tossings 
of the night I literally made up my mind 
and unmade it hundreds of times. My 
nerves were so frayed and irritated that I 
was unfitted to think calmly and logically 
on the one subject which harassed me, and 
the mental agony that tortured would not 
be put aside. 

"Just how I reached the bank the next 
morning seems to me a perfect blank. My 
first remembrance came as I was leaning 
against one corner of the check desk await- 
ing my turn to the directors' room where 
the cashier was giving one by one the wait- 
ing line the third degree. There were at 
least a half dozen men ahead of me — each 
probably under a burden as great as my own 
but apparently carrying it more lightly. I 
had heard much of the heartless bankers 
[93] 



who gloat in an opportunity to strip those 
in their powers, but this was the first time 
in my life that the experience was to come 
to me first hand. While standing there 
waiting I had time to think of many things 
that I had heard of bankers — not one of 
which reflected much credit on them. Occa- 
sionally contentious rumblings would come 
from the cashier's room and I could catch a 
few strident and caustic words — just enough 
to fill me with the deepest forebodings. 
Although my banker and myself had always 
enjoyed each other's confidence and, I may 
say, even esteem, get as I waited my doom 
my deep humility turned to loathing and 
hatred. I anticipated what I would get and 
steeled myself against him with a hatred 
which I can not even now fathom. I hated 
not only this cashier, but all the banks and 
bankers for loaning money and making pos 
sible the excruciating tortures which the 
sons of men like myself had to undergo. My 
agony of spirit was such that I could have 
[94] 



committed murder and gloried in it. As 
those in the head of the line were taken care 
of I found myself coming closer and closer 
to the door that entered into the director's 
room and in the presence of the cashier. All 
of a sudden I heard above the former more 
or less subdued conversation the voice of 
the Cashier: 'You misrepresented this to 
me, you'll pay every cent, and that before 
night, too', and judging by the tone, he meant 
it. The flushed face of the downcast cus- 
tomer as he emerged from the room showed 
he had undergone a cruel grilling. I had no 
time for further thoughts. At a signal from 
the assistant at the window, I entered. The 
Cashier looked up with a smile, much to my 
surprise and I may say almost my chagrin. 
" 'Well, hello Sid, I'm glad to see you. I 
was just thinking of writing you. As a 
result of the blizzard losses many ranchers 
have cattle to sell at right prices. You have 
too much range for your reduced herd. 
Here's a check-book. Go out and buy up to 
[95] 



$10,000 worth. When you're through come 
in and we'll make the papers out. I wish I 
could visit with you, but I am too busy just 
now. Good day.' " 

"I had my bristles up when I went in but 
the cashier did not give me time to say a 
word. I could not fathom how or why it 
had all happened. 

"Being a good judge of stock I went out 
and bought from my unfortunate neighbors 
about 500 steers— all good ones, as the poor 
ones of the country were for the most part 
dead. During the next dozen years cattle 
appreciated in price and with free grazing 
and no taxes I soon recouped my losses and 
added to my herd, and this is how I got hold 
of enough cattle to run a wagon and to spare. 

"It was some years after the blizzard 
before I learned that my wife, while I was 
dejected and almost deprived of ambition 
and selfrespect, had plotted with the 
banker without my knowledge, and the plot 
worked too." 

[96] 



can hardly be found anywhere else in the 
world. 

In 1912 a party of geographers and geo- 
logists from the Old World made a tour of 
the United States in the interest of scientific 
research. Among the places visited were 
the badlands near Medora. It was the un- 
animous opinion of those making up the par- 
ty that the badlands offered more to bless 
the vision than any other place they had 
seen, and before coming to the United States 
they had covered nearly all the scenic won- 
ders of Europe. 

The Little Missouri river was at one 
time a sort of dividing line between the Sioux 
and the Crow Indians, each having theore- 
tically a prescriptive right to its own terri- 
tory unmolested. Even as we rode in imag- 
ination the eye saw the shadowy forms of 
the past. The mind reverted to the time 
when half clad humanity with unwritten 
history running back into the eternity of 
darkness dwelt here, and wondetred how many 
[99] 



imtableted thousands sleep within the rug- 
ged bosom of this provokingly wayward re- 
gion. Less than half a century has elapsed 
since the twang of bow, and the death chant 
were heard here, but now all is still — ^the 
Redmen gone, except on scattered reserva- 
tions — "None left them to inherit their 
name, their fame, their passions and their 
thrones". They bore the sorrows and the 
burdens allotted to them and are at rest. 

In tha course of the day's ride we had 
to pass many places of historic interest, 
through Medora where the Marquis De 
Mores started the packing plant in the mid- 
dle 80's, by the old beef-bottom corrals, the 
Maltese Cross Ranch location where Roose- 
velt one time lived for a brief period, by 
Custer's Wash and up ^ully Creek, the scenes 
of Military Expeditions of days long ago, 
by the burning coal mine, the petrified for- 
ests and Cedar Canyon, and by the old 
gambler's shack. Since statehood it has 
been illegal to sell liquors in North Dakota, 
[100] 



but only when public opinion became insist- 
ent did the blind pigs move on, taking with 
them to new territory, or leaving behind a:j 
so much junk, their accessories and money 
extorting accompaniments. The doors of 
this shack were gone; empty bottles scatter- 
ed here and there about the premises or pil- 
ed in rounded heaps in the rear were mutely 
reminiscent of the days of glory. On the 
floor were the tattered remnants of a grizzly 
bear rug, mounted with full head; a rickety 
gambler's table with moth eaten green cover 
occupied the center of the room; a disabled 
slot machine that used to respond to contri- 
butions by giving forth strident music now 
stood voiceless and dust covered. A roulette 
table, the figures on whose dial were still de- 
cipherable reposed harmlessly in one corner 
of the room surrounded by scraps of aban- 
doned clothing. The walls were adorned 
with the faded and tattered pictures of Lou 
Dillon, Dan Patch and several other kings 
and queens of the turf; some prize fighters 
[101] 



in menacing attitude cut from the pages of 
the Police Gazette, and not a few pink petal- 
ed daisies scantily attired portraying in col- 
or and daring suggestiveness the beauty of 
the stage. 

The Badlands are still an almost unin- 
vaded sanctuary — scarcely defined by the 
beautifying hand of man. To such a place 
one may turn from the hurry of life and find 
the lonesomeness agreeable. Here one still 
finds the cowboy, the sole remaining relic 
of the Old West, wearing a Carlsbad Stetson, 
Angora Chaps, the Justin boot, and silver 
inlaid spurs, and riding a horse caparisoned 
in the semi-barbaric but becoming splendor 
of a full stamped saddle, Navajo blankets, 
rawhide hackamore, hand-forged, silver in- 
laid bit and maniia throwing rope. Here in 
daily use are the circular corrals, into which 
the saddle horses are driven when mounts 
are to be caught — where they turn and dodge 
in fuliginous confusion to escape the throw- 
er's rope. Here is the roundup with its hilar- 

[102] 



ious spurts of speed, range roping, herd cut- 
ting and where the herd patriarchs, soHcitous 
for their harems, paw the ground and de- 
fiantly assert physical superiority in their 
narrowly limited vocal range. 

There is probably no better year around 
grazing lands in the world and certainly not 
in the United States than the Badlands af- 
ford, when judged by three essential requis- 
ites; quantity of nutritious grasses, natural 
protection from the cold driving winds, and 
sufficiency of stock-water. The grazing 
wealth of the Badlands is in its short but 
nourishing buffalo grasses. Animals that feed 
upon them are fat, trim of girth and active. 
In order to get sufficient nutrition to sustain 
life an animal in the rainy regions must eat 
so much of the watery herbage that it beih 
comes paunchy, logy and uncomely. Our 
horses always, and cattle and sheep for the 
most part, graze out all winter and it is a 
curious fact that they do better when on 
good grass than when kept in a corral and 
[103] 



fed hay. The hay, like the grass, is rich in 
protein but is deficient in carbonaceous or 
heat producing properties. The outside an- 
imal supplies its bodily heat by constant 
walking in search of food while the corral 
animal being confined, humps up and shivers 
and suffers from the cold. The western grass 
is nutritious in winter because it cures on 
the stem during the dry months of July and 
August, while in wet climates the frost kills 
the rank grass, sours its juices and leaves it 
woody and void of nutrition. The feeding 
tentacles of buffalo grass hold the clay soil 
in its place and prevent erosion from carry- 
ing the soluble and suspended particles into 
the wasting sea. Alternately seared by 
drought, frozen by the rigors of arctic win- 
ters, and grazed or trampled to hopeless bar- 
renness, yet it creeps forth from its subter- 
ranean vitality on the first relaxation of its 
enemies. With ail of its staying qualities it 
retires before the plow without a protest, 
and quietly bides its time. If a field be aban- 
[104] 



doned it is over run by Russian thistles and 
other rank and reaching weeds, but within 
a few years, at most, the native grass quiet- 
ly and unobtrusively reasserts its sovereign- 
ty. 

With its creeping benedictions buffalo 
grass covers the scars of erosion with its 
velvety wealth, and only v/here a sunward 
declivity forbids the absorption of water is 
the surface left unclad. In our semi-arid re- 
gions it is the healing catholicon of nature — 
the antidote for barrenness; banish it and 
most of our western grazing lands would be- 
come as inhospitable as the Sahara. 

Unseen the Badlands can not be imag- 
ed, but once seen can neither be described nor 
forgotten. 

As one rides forward the view changes 
as a kaleidoscope — new colors, new shapes, 
new vistas that sometimes touch one feel- 
ingly and restfully or silence one by their al- 
lurements. There is entrancing charm in a 
region where nature is at her v/orst — ^where 
ri05] 



gullies are washed by the merciless surge of 
time, where buttes with sides covered by in- 
finite corrugations are scattered in promis- 
cuous disarrangement. 

The buttes when not wholly naked, are 
covered on their north sides at least with 
grass and, sometimes, trees — and are less 
steep — ^while the sunward-turned slopes are 
more precipitous and often aggressively 
sterile. 

When not capped with stone, buttes are 
often conical or pyramidal, erode rapidly, and 
are as barren and look not unlike huge sta- 
lagmites. 

Petrifactions, or more properly silicifica- 
tions, are by no means rare, yet are less fre- 
quently found than either sandstone or 
scoria. Many of the buttes consist of pure 
clay without stones of any kind and where 
the lignite is not burned out there will, of 
coursa, be an absence of scoria, as the scoria 
is produced by the burning lignite beds. Half 
way up the side of a butte is sometimes 
[106] 



found the white petrified trunks of trees in 
splintered decay or gnarled stumps, which 
have resisted the action of the weather. A 
butte may be capped with scoria, conglomer- 
ated clinkers, or sandstone, while at its base 
unlovely masses of all these mingle in happy- 
go-lucky decadence. 

Size is only one of the elements of grand- 
eur. Beauty is usually made up of fine lines 
and rich colorings, and depends largely up- 
on its transitoriness. It defies the camera. 
Beauty, whether in woman or nature, is nev- 
er static. The camera always is. Mountains 
are too vast to get a close up view and too 
far away to give distinctness ; they are grand, 
sublime, majestic, but are static lifeless pic- 
tures, unchanging through the ages from 
•everlasting to everlasting. The Badlands 
are wilfully coquettish. Mountains are the 
cold marble statues with unspeaking lips 
and unseeing eyes ; the Badlands are the liv- 
ing actors with flushed faces, beaming coun- 
tenances and pulsing blood. The sublimity 
[107] 



of the mountains is awe inspiring and re- 
duces the beholder to nothingness, while that 
of the Badlands is palpitating, alluring, ec- 
static; the one soul subduing, the other soul 
accruing. 

It is worth while to climb a high butte 
in the midst of the Badlands and alone gaze 
unmolested on the surrounding weird desola- 
tion and entrancing beauty. 

On this particular day I wound my way 
to the top of Medicine Pole Hill. On reach- 
ing the summit the sun was almost down and 
the scene as a whole was one of rugged re- 
pose; the unslumbering wind had calmed to 
a point of wayward indolence, and there was 
not a sound to indicate vivid existence. The 
view that meets one's enraptured vision is 
the perpetual despair of painter's brush or 
poet's song. 

Bare, sun-scorched buttes, rain-rutted 

and furrowed, form the outposts of chaotic 

masses of variegated clay, scoria and stone, 

thrown higelty-pigelty — making the panora- 

[108] 



ma look as if the debris of earth had been 
broom-swept into this industrial devastation. 
As far as one can see along the course of the 
Little Missouri in either direction there is 
not an eye-offending work of man. Such 
wild magnificence, such chaos and mystery, 
such vastness, such freedom, such isolation! 
The close up view reveals the variegated 
clay, the red scoria, the black seams of lig- 
nite stored up in earth's vernal years — ^when 
the saurian and the mammoth held sway. 

In many cases the buttes are begirt 
with fringes of shrubbery splotched with 
white blossoms of buckthorn, juneberry, 
plum and chokecherry and an occasional 
snowy dome of kinnikinik — while tongues of 
dark green grass reach up the narrow valleys 
so amorously watered by the declivities. 

In almost any direction one looks there 
is a Sierra of rugose, cedar-fringed crags, al- 
ternating with conical clay spires of varying 
heights and sizes often separated by shrub- 
bearing gorges, impassable except at infre- 
quent intervals. 

[109] 



The peaks in the midst of the Badlands 
seem to stand in unstable equilibrium. This 
adds to their apparent evanescence and 
changeableness. As far as one can see to the 
north or south unending wonder greets the 
eye — but to the east or west in the shadowy- 
distance the flux and flow of the badlands 
fade in harmonious outline into the effortless 
rest of the open prairies. 

As the tints of evening shaded into the 
panoply of night the northern lights sent 
their shifting rays far above the horizon, 
robing the heavens in gorgeous pageantry, 
a proper apparaling of the sky as a fitting 
accompaniment to the sumptuous color 
scheme on this vast canvas splashed from 
the palette of the Infinite. 

Except for the northern lights it would 
have been dark when I reached the foot of 
Medicine Pole Hill. A wolf set up a lone- 
some howl from a nearby butte. There are 
sounds that accentuate the feeling of vast- 
ness, of freedom, of isolation, and none does 
[110] 



this so effectively as the prolonged fear- 
shuddering howl of the gray wolf as it rever- 
berates in deep crescendo among the half- 
clad buttes. 

I had seen the bush burning and heard 
the voice in the, flame. 



[Ill] 



A TENDERFOOT, A COWBOY, AND A 
TRUTH 




N The good old days in North Da- 
kota when Senator Jud La Moure 
acted as watchdog of the treasury, 
the western part of the state was 
little known to those living in the 
Red River Valley. There was no state insti- 
tution west of Mandan, hence no junketing 
trip or institutional investigation ever gave 
occasion to visit us. However, the sen- 
ate and house members travelled on passes 
which they could use to their heart's content 
when relieved, as they occasionally were, 
from their legislative grind. Especially at 
week-ends those from the eastern counties 
occasionally visited the Badlands — which, be- 
cause less known, were even greater objects 
of mystery and wonder than at present. 

On one such occasion about a half doz- 
en law makers came to Sentinel Butte, then 
[112] 



the most westerly town in the State, and of 
course was as far as their passes would take 
them. They arrived on Saturday evening 
after dark and found their way through the 
unlighted streets to the Butte Hotel. The 
cowboys learned of their coming and, being 
desirous of staging a little fun in honor of 
the event, sent numerous fusi:ades from 
their equalizers into the night air. 

As volley after volley belched forth, a 
noticeable uneasiness began to take hold of 
the group of solons in the hotel lobby — and 
well might they be uneasy as at that time 
there was no closed season on tenderfeet in 
Sentinel Butte. One of them, more agitated 
than the others, paced backwards and for- 
wards to the plate glass window facing out 
upon the streets, and shading his eyes tried 
to get some idea of the pitched battle he 
was sure was in progress. He flinched and 
shuddered at every flash out of tha dark- 
ness and its accompanying report, and the 
hideous whooping-up the boys ware indulg- 
ing in chilled the marrow in his bones. 

[113] 



When he could no longer stand the sus- 
pense, and though trying to screen his ig- 
norance of the frontier, he turned to an old 
time cowman who was leaning back against 
the wall smoking, apparently wholly oblivi-* 
ous of the commotion going on in the street, 
and asked in a subdued but agitated tone, 
flavored by a Norw^egian accent: "How of- 
ten do they kill people out here? Whereup- 
on the old ranger deliberately took his cigar 
from his mouth and turning his head slowly 
toward his questioner, answered: 

''Only once". 



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